6May1995

London: 6th May 1995
My dear Mum and Jones

Saturday evening, going on for 1800: But there's still a hot sun in the sky. Far too hot to tempt me out for at least another hour - when I shall douse the patio plants. They'll need it too. I have had the loveliest day, a Jones kind of day. I have barely been out of the flat, except to fetch the post this morning. Mavis has been sprawled out beside me all day. He tries to occupy the largest possible space, as if his stretching himself to the four winds helps him to stay cool. Last night, he condescended to come inside and decided to join me on the bed where he promptly started snoring. In spite of getting his ribs thumped from time to time, he chose to stay there. What a funny guy!

I devoted the morning to cleaning & I've spent the afternoon on the computer, a mixture of work & play. The flat has been vacuumed from top to bottom. Makes me feel quite virtuous. I had a phone call from Ann-Christine inviting me to a braai this evening but (we) decided after discussing it that the traffic around Hyde Park would be simply unbearable & we postponed it for a week. The VE Day celebrations are in full swing. The poor bastards must have cooked. Hell but it's been hot. Up in the 80s again & weather either for swimming or staying indoors.

I had a chat to Catherine last night. She'll be winging her way southwards as I type, taking our good wishes with her, Mother. (I have been thinking of your twisted ankle. I do hope it's improved & improving.) Today's mail brought a card from her & 2 photos of her daughters, looking utterly angelic at Anita's first Communion. Erica has shot up since last I saw her. How well I understand a parent's wish not to slow a child's growth but to allow the child to experience the fullness of childhood before the tidal wave of adolescence sweeps over it.

Big fuss here over the dismissal from the England rugby team (arriving in South Africa for the World Cup) of their captain, Will Carling, fired for calling the Executive of English rugby: "57 old farts". The issue seems to be less whether they are old farts than whether they should be described as such. Funny world that one loose word should wreak such havoc with a career.

Phone call there from Herman downstairs, asking whether I should like a glass of cold Rose wine on his patio. I pointed out to him that it would not be my first glass of cold Rose wine this evening. But this deterred him not at all. So let me add just a few words before I go down and wish you lots of love.